


Last Chance

by Corseque (Besagew)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, No sex yet in the first chapter just setup and pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-13 05:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21239249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besagew/pseuds/Corseque
Summary: The night before the last battle with Corypheus, Solas says goodbye.Originally posted as a kink meme fill





	Last Chance

**Author's Note:**

> In the game, the Inquisition has no warning before Corypheus’ final attack, so this came out of wondering how Solas may have acted if he absolutely knew the end was coming and had to watch it happen in slow motion.

There are fires in the valley outside Skyhold. Thousands of lights, gleaming and blinking in the darkness like the reflected eyes of animals. Her enemies are a dark mass of moving shapes, barely visible and far below them in the valley.

"Corypheus' forces," Cullen says.

"I gathered from the commotion," Lavellan says. Everyone is rushing in the courtyard behind and below them, and many people are shouting to be heard over the noise. "Is everything prepared for the siege?"

"We'll be ready,” answers Cullen. “The good news is we have the high ground. We have the castle. We have enough supplies to last for months."

"And the bad news?"

Cullen shakes his head. "With the bulk of our troops still making their way from the Arbor Wilds, we don't have a force to meet them. When our forces arrive, we’ll be able to stand against them, but that will take weeks. Until then, we’ll only be able to act defensively. And if Corypheus' dragon shows up —"

"I have a dragon to match his. Morrigan."

"As you say," Cullen says. Only the slightest bit dubiously, too. "But even if the dragon can be matched… I won't lie to you, Inquisitor. It is still just the few of us and this castle against an impressive force. Just with sheer numbers, they could very well breach the walls. Perhaps even tomorrow. And with that dragon, and Corypheus himself, things look even more dire."

Lavellan stares out into the darkness for several more moments, heart thudding dully against her ribs. She wills herself to see details, but there is just fire and smoke and black shapes. A horde somehow appearing out of nowhere, just like at Haven. Their fledgling organization had suffered a sound defeat then. And though she must put on a brave face, it is more than worrying that the commander is already on the defensive before they've even begun.

"Judging by the fires, they're settled for the night," Cullen says. "I’d bet that they won't scale a large attack until first light at least. If they try to start this during the night, or if the dragon appears, I will wake you. Otherwise, it's probably best if you try to rest."

Lavellan smiles ruefully at the thought of trying to sleep now, but still presses Cullen's arm in thanks. "Good work, commander. If you need anything from me, send a runner immediately."

As she moves to go, he turns with one last quiet word. "Inquisitor, it would be bad for morale to tell the men, but you should be aware. Without the men in the Arbor Wilds, this siege could get very ugly, very quickly."

Another warning, from one would know best what their chances are.

Lavellan nods, feeling her stomach turn to lead. "We will just have to make do.” She is glad to hear her voice sound so resolute. "Hopefully, we will be able to draw Corypheus out himself, and then we can be done with this."

Lavellan climbs down the steps, casting an eye over her castle. The sounds of preparations of war echo on the walls. The armory is running hot during the night, glowing bright with purpose through the windows. Harried runners are passing this way and that. Only a token force of soldiers remains in the castle, she knows. There aren't enough soldiers to defend themselves properly.

The crier is still shouting the news even though everyone's heard it, and now the constant reminder is only good for making people afraid. Lavellan cuts him off mid-sentence and orders him to go help Leliana instead. He runs off, wide-eyed.

She turns to watch the gate guards lower the portcullis, four men on each turnstile. As the portcullis meets the ground, it makes a sharp, permanent noise that makes her think of teeth, and of last words.

She firmly tells herself she is not trapped in the stomach of her own castle, being devoured.

There are angry and frightened people — nobles and merchants — who were only visiting Skyhold and never meant to stay more than a few days, let alone for a siege. Josephine is taking care of their frantic questions, and Lavellan is grateful for her patience and skill with words, because she’d have little patience with the complaints of human nobles tonight.

Lavellan passes on.

A runner meets her as she walks, asking her about supplies, and Lavellan directs her to the quartermaster. The mage tower is lit with strange magic — Vivienne is working with them to make doubly sure that the wards are sound. The medics are already setting up cots and beds in preparation for the wounded, their faces harried.

She climbs the steps to the main hall, greeting everyone who speaks to her, trying to seem confident and unwavering and calm. The Inquisitor cannot be seen to have doubts at the thought of a siege.

"Did they close the gate already?" she overhears a man say behind her. "Damn it. I wanted to take the chance to get a last word to my wife in case things go south. Who knows what may happen with magic and dragons. It could be another Haven."

"Too late now," comes the reply.

Last words of love. Last chances.

To her right, the rotunda echoes with unspoken words.

She remembers what Solas had told her. That once Corypheus dies, he will tell her everything. Why he became so cold toward her, so suddenly. What closed him off to her in the very moment she held her heart out to him.

If the two of them survive, then he will explain to her why all of that pain was necessary. Solas promised her.

Having to trust his judgment when he’s told her nothing of what is troubling him has been like biting into a stone. His distance and professionalism strike her like the cut of a knife every time, despite how she tries not to let it hurt her. She laughs under her breath. As if she could simply decide to stop the twinging of her heart every time he speaks to her.

She doesn't understand. And when she asks him, he doesn’t explain. He can’t—or won’t—remove his mask yet. He won’t reveal himself to her. And with that mystery, it has been impossible to pick up her broken heart, let it go, and move on. She is stuck, bewildered and lost.

To spend time thinking about her deep confusion and hurt is like deliberately pressing a bruise, so she tries not to. Solas needs distance. She will always give it to him and try to be patient. She just thinks of how close they are to killing Corypheus and makes that her goal.

But the army outside is frightening. All at once, the idea of one of them dying before Corypheus dies doesn't seem as unlikely as it always has. What if the dragon brings down the walls tomorrow? The thought that she might die and never know what had made him so unhappy—somehow that thought is more unbearable than being under siege.

Her heart is miserable and proud, and she hesitates for long minutes on the threshold, people passing behind her.

If Solas greets her by calling her ‘Inquisitor' again, on the eve of the last battle, she doesn't know what she'll do.

She won't be able to sleep without trying to reach out to him one last time, she decides. There's very little chance of her being able to sleep at all, but there would be no chance if she doesn't at least try.

So she edges into the rotunda, and breathes a sigh of relief to find Solas there. She had half-expected him to be looking over reports, or drafting some stratagem, but Solas is instead sketching the last of his great frescos on the wall. The last mural to complete the story of her time as Inquisitor, the story Solas has taken such pains to dedicate on the walls surrounding him.

The way he is marking this last mural is different than she's ever seen him draw before, though. Gone is his long careful study before a single deft stroke, followed by more thought, followed by another stroke. Now his movements are hurried and rough, as if he knows that he's running out of time to finish the fresco. He is drawing the forbidding shapes of great animals, the teeth of a dragon and the claws of a beast, towering dangerously over him. The muscles of his back tense under his shirt as he swipes the charcoal furiously over the plaster.

Somehow, this is the first thing to strike real fear into her, that Solas would ever draw on his walls like that. It isn’t like him.

"Solas," she tries.

He stops mid-stroke, and seems to gather himself. Then he turns to face her, meeting her eyes with cool professionalism.

"Inquisitor," he greets.

Cold washes through her at the title. She almost turns on her heel to escape that unbearable coldness.

But something about the way he was just desperately marking the walls, that proof of his feeling something, makes her step forward instead. "It's not looking good, Solas," she says quietly.

"I saw the fires." His voice is just as low. "I know the situation is grave."

So Solas also thinks that they stand little chance. It isn’t just the commander who thinks it. Her stomach lurches in trepidation. "Then," she forces the word past her lips. She must try at least once more, even if nothing comes of it. "I know you said you would speak to me if we both survived the fight. But that doesn't look as likely now."

His face doesn't change expression from that polite mask. Solas sticks to his script. "If we lose the fight, all is lost. We must concentrate on it."

"Solas, don't. Please." She can feel her breath quickening, upset filling her stomach where fear had already made its home. "I know you said you couldn’t, but this really may be the last chance to speak. You know it. Surely you don't want it to end this way?"

His eyes close. "Of course not."

"Then are you punishing yourself? Are you punishing me?"

His eyes seem to crack, and she can clearly see hurt on his face. "It isn't a punishment. There truly are larger concerns."

She is so rarely able to get through to him that seeing his expression change at all strengthens her resolve. “Larger concerns. I’m supposed to believe there is something more important than my happiness, when I’m doing all I can to save the world.” Despite herself, her voice is full of scorn. “Don’t pretend you don’t care.”

"I never said that I did not.”

Frustration roils inside her. "Then act like it. Do something."

His eyes are desperately unhappy. "Please. Forgive me. This is something I would change, if it were at all possible. I never meant to cause you pain."

She realizes that he is scanning her features, from her mouth to her eyes, as if he's trying to memorize her face.

It gives her the strength she needs. He does care for her, still. He's frightened, too, and lost in some way she can't understand. He may even need her help. All the signs are there of him silently crying out for it. And the thought of leaving him here to scrawl on the walls, trapped in whatever lonely hell he's made for himself, is unbearable.

"This is hard for me," she whispers. "I am frightened, and I may very well die tomorrow. I may watch people I love die for me. So I wanted to come say farewell to you. But it's like you've already left. You left weeks ago, without any warning. I never had the chance to —" Her voice chokes, and she bites down on her cheek furiously.

“Inquisitor,” Solas tries.

Where does he get the audacity to look so hurt? He has no right.

“I’m not asking you to tell me what it is.” She gathers all her courage and presses on. “I’m not asking for you to speak. It’s only… I can see the fires outside my balcony window, so I won’t be able to sleep. And I suppose you’ll be here, painting on your walls. You can have that to comfort you. I just think it’s a shame.”

And, with some dignity, and before she can work herself into real tears, she turns and makes her escape. She swore she wouldn't cry in front of him again.

Solas doesn't stop her from leaving, and he doesn't call after her. He doesn't move at all.

Somehow, that's the worst part.

Lavellan shakes in the alcove before the door to the great hall, schooling her features, breathing slowly and digging her nails into her palms. It is perhaps the worst moment for her to lose control over her emotions in public — all she wants to do is rail at the heavens, but somehow she manages to bury it. For now, at least.

After a time, she opens the door and continues her rounds with what feels like an open wound in her chest. The same wound torn open again.

She seeks out and dutifully speaks to everyone she needs to. Her voice is calm and she doesn't show her emotions, but she has been Inquisitor for a long time, and it seems possible to hide even the most stinging hurts. After an hour or two the castle is settled and quiet as it is ever going to be with an army outside the gates.

Her feet take her to her room. There, her arms replace her clothes with a soft robe, and her eyes sweep past the balcony — all those fires, those innumerable black shapes — and her feet bring her to her bed, where her body collapses, a small dead weight. Like her castle, she can only wait in the darkness to be attacked. Her mind brushes against the memory of her clan, and she curls in on herself with a sob.

For a time there is nothing but the sound of quiet tears.

There is a knock at the door.


End file.
